A black eye and a strapless dress

I had a wild and crazy week.

My grandpa thought I'd been a blogger missing-in-action because I'd been busy gardening. Not so much. We've had something like five inches of rain in the last week. I now officially have a swamp. Maybe I should look into growing rice.

It was Vacation Bible School week at our church. I was put in charge of crafts by a dear friend who has an unwavering faith in the impossible, and obviously believes I have the ability to successfully multitask.

There is just nothing like showing a group of children how to assemble a "bopper popper" (which consists of two cardboard tubes, two rubber bands, a string and a ball), and attempting to explain how it relates to their lesson for the day... while balancing a way-beyond-naptime year-old babe on my hip, her blankie over my shoulder, and doing my best to keep from being knocked completely over by a hysterical five-year-old with a black eye.

Yes, the black eye was a direct result of a game the first day of VBS.


Church events are an awful lot of fun, just look a that face! You know he had a great time.

I felt a teensy bit guilty for escaping VBS half-way through the week.

But I had to load up a few bags and my kiddos, and hit the road. You see, my cousin was getting married. Outside. On a pasture that was so authentic it was best to pay close attention to where you stepped.


Beyond the cow poop which may or may not have been attached to the bottom of my sandals, I also quickly learned to pay very close attention to something else.

I sat down. And so did the top of my strapless dress.

Apparently I don't have much to hold it up.

Not to worry!

It was fifty-five degrees out and windy. Naturally, since it was still hours before the wedding, I had a sweatshirt over my dress. Classy, I know, but darn lucky too.

I was saved by my sweats.

And the way it turned out, it didn't matter what anyone (except the wedding party) had chosen to wear. In the last hour before the ceremony began, a light mist turned to rain, and the wind continued to blow. Guests were wearing whatever jackets, sweatshirts, hats and blankets we could scrounge up from our vehicles.

We wiped off our wet seats, shivered, and laughed while we got soaked and witnessed a wedding to remember.

As the ceremony began, the groomsmen handed their jackets over to the shivering bridesmaids, who in turn gave the men their flowers to hold. We listened to a guitar held under umbrellas. I watched the photographers do magic with cold fingers while trying to keep their Canon 5D Mark II cameras dry.

The bride and groom laughed.

It was completely insane.

It was awesome and uniquely their day.

A snake day

We had a snake day, our first one this year.

It was a glorious, beautiful, awesome snake day.

Why, yes... snakes are one of our very favorite things! How did you ever guess?


Boy, oh boy, was it ever fun! There was laughing and grabbing and pushing and giggling, there was close inspection and something that resembled a snake carnival ride. I never knew they could, but when we finally let that exhausted snake go, it breathed a huge sigh of relief.

Editing to link up with Macro Monday for my first time, and also In A Yellow House - Summer photo Challenge.

To plant an apple tree

I had this quote (which I thought was from Martin Luther) spinning through my head, "If I knew that the world would end tomorrow, I would still plant my apple tree". I looked it up, just to be sure.

(Sigh)

What I found made me dizzy was a slightly different version.

"Even if I knew that tomorrow the world would go to pieces, I would still plant my apple tree."

Depending on which website you trust, it is attributed to either Martin Luther or Martin Luther King, Jr.

Ummm... no. Try again. And I prefer the wording that was going through my brain better. Let's just pretend I didn't look it up.

Exhibit A: my apple tree, which I did plant


The tree finally arrived this week, after I called the company I had ordered it from and said, "Hey, where's my tree?".

And the rest of my order that they screwed up? Sold out. I'm thrilled about it.

Thrilled.

But I've got my oh-crap-we'll-expedite-that-out-to-you-right-away apple tree planted.


Exhibit B: two more apple trees, which my boys did plant in our front yard


Even if those boys (sometimes) make me wish the world would end tomorrow, right now I think they're pretty darn creative and resourceful.

Depth of field

If you've followed this blog for any amount of time, surely then you know that I am a narrow depth of field lunatic.


What does depth of field mean?

Pay attention, I'll make it so obvious that it hurts.


That shot makes me want to watch Dead Poets Society. I'm thinking that I might have forgotten to take my medication this morning.

Don't worry, I'll be fine.

Look at this perfect, creamy smooth background. I want to lick it.


I can force your attention to the pathetic drowned earthworm that had such a great afternoon with us. At least it's not in five pieces like the other one was.


This next photo, I love it so much. I love the lines, the tack sharp focus on the vertical brace, the angle I grabbed it at... and did I mention how yummy that background is?

Have I totally lost it?


Can you even tell what it is?

The blurred lines and colors really fascinate me in this last shot. It looks like a magical forest just waiting to be explored.

Nope. It's only a tree row where I buried my dead cat, but that could have been my secret.


Depth of field? The nearest to farthest area of a photograph that has an acceptably sharp focus. I prefer narrow. It allows for such an artsy interpretation of what I see through my lens.

You Capture - "Depth of Field"

By the way, that was a corral gate. Did you guess correctly?

The difference

Chicks, like all babies, grow up fast. These photos were taken four days ago, and already they look different.

They have tiny feathers growing out of the fuzz on their wings.


I could sit in the coop for hours (except that I can't because I must keep my own children alive) and watch the interaction between the hen and chicks. This is so different from brooding orphan chicks in a cardboard box with a heat lamp.

It fascinates me to no end.

They make the happiest little trilling sound when they are falling asleep underneath their mom. I never heard this noise from our other chicks.

Despite being totally new at this, Momma Hen has turned out to be a really great mom. The transition from sitting to mothering was just seamless.

I was worried that she wasn't eating enough, so I brought her a bowl full of pieces of moist bread. (I did this often while she was sitting on the eggs.) She tasted it, then she called the babies out from beneath her and gave them every last piece. They ate it too.


Our orphan chicks would run like crazy when they got a snack. It was a game of keep-away with absolutely no rules. But these chicks, when they get a snack, are so calm and just step aside to eat.

It's almost like they know mom will give them more.


Chickens scratch.

It's what they do.

All the time.

Momma Hen thinks she needs to teach her babies to scratch. This has been our one problem. She scratches their bedding into mountains that cover their feeder and waterer.

I take bedding out. She manages to do it again. I take more bedding out.

Those birds have almost no bedding left.

But they're all happy and healthy, and it gives me another excuse to check on them, so I think we're doing okay.

Saying goodbye

I came out here three weeks ago, with a shovel and a box.


I discovered rather quickly that the spot I chose was criss-crossed with tree roots. But then, probably every square foot in here is, and I'd already made up my mind.

There wasn't much green at the time, and nothing was flowering yet.

I wished I had brought a different shovel.


I smashed through the tree roots in my way, and dug down until I hit soggy clay. It stuck to my shovel like the grief in my heart, and I couldn't shake it off. I tried to scrape it away with a stick, but the stick was decaying and it broke.

The hole wasn't as deep as I wanted.

I gently lowered in my friend of fifteen years. My beautiful blue-eyed white kitty, my companion through boyfriends, fights with my mom, dilemmas about college, the future and the unknown... this was the cat who travelled round-trip across the country with me, twice, and apparently forgave me for it. She was by my side while my husband was in the military, through the first five years of our marriage when we were apart more than we were together. She was the determined missile that would launch herself from the floor, landing on my shoulder whenever she felt like enjoying the view. She was the thief of baked goods which were unfortunate enough to be left on the counter. If she didn't appear when I cracked a raw egg, it meant she was surely locked in a closet.

I threw my soaked tissues in the hole and began to fill it in, then wished I had kept one as I wiped my face on my sleeve.


When I stomped the dirt down to secure the top of her grave, I realized I was wearing my good shoes. They were now caked with wet clay and bits of dead grass.

Too late.

I found the mightiest fallen tree that I had the strength to move, dragged it over and placed it on top. I'm not sure why.


Goodbye Priss.

And I walked away with a heart that felt as heavy as my clay-caked good shoes.

Yellow

Beth's You Capture photo challenge this week is "yellow".

This road, one that has caused the locals to grab their pitchforks, light their torches, and gather in angry masses, does have some yellow. Some. I searched long and hard to find a stretch of yellow that extended this far.


To be completely honest, there were other stretches of yellow paint, but I would have been more likely to be flattened. Some of you know the luck I tend to have. Like having eggs smash in my pocket, or getting human brain DNA all over my face (which might, actually, explain a lot of things), or having to walk over areas of washed out road (yes, that one) on planks when I'm in labor.

Right.

It's always nice to have a road there when you need it.

What was the theme this week? Distracting skies?


Oh, sorry.

Yellow.


If you read my Mother's Day post, then you know that I've been holding out on you.

Yes, we have babies.

Four of them, two of which just happen to be yellow.

I will get better shots of the chicks than this one.


It's the best I could do shooting through chicken wire, in a dark coop, while tipping a cardboard lid up with my foot, leaning over and wielding a three pound lens (don't hate me) while working with a shutter speed of 1/25th of a second and manual focus because the light was that dim. Not a word about the white balance, okay!?

Now click here to visit Beth!

You Capture - "Yellow"

Next week's assignment is a technical one, shallow depth of field. My absolute favorite! YAY! I can't wait to see what everyone comes up with.

The sun came out

So tell me, what could be more fun than a big (relatively speaking) bowl full of frozen blueberries, Owl City's Ocean Eyes cranked way up on a laptop that has awfully crummy (seriously, but it's all we have) speakers, a mom (I do feel like claiming the title today, thank you) itching to use her really freaking cool new lens, and some awesome (finally) light?

Yes, light.

As in, the perpetual blanket of clouds that has dampened our spirits for weeks now, lifted. And the sun did shine. And there was much rejoicing. And the blueberries were juicy and sweet.


I'll tell you what's more fun.

At that moment? Not a thing in the world!


And I totally blame my missed focus on most of the photos that I took, on the fact that I was laughing. Laughing so hard.

I will not post those photos. I will only post the good ones. That way I can fool you all into thinking I'm a really great photographer.

Because I'm tricky like that.

(cough)

Excuse me.


This kid cracks me up. (Yes, he also tries to floss with his silverware.)

This is my contemplative son who once told me, "A octopus has a lots of armpits".

He speaks the truth.

If you ask him his name?

"This is lizard."

Okay, not always the truth.


Darn it, the bowl went empty.

So we re-filled it.


Three times.

Holding my breath

It's Mother's Day.

If you read about my determined hen you know that I have been counting days. Specifically, I've been counting the twenty-one days until today, Mother's Day. Not because it's Mother's Day. That happened to be an appropriate coincidence, and nothing else.

Today is the day our Nest Queen has been sitting on her eggs for twenty-one days, the day I marked on my calendar "Chicks due!".

I didn't expect to find babies this morning when I visited her, and I was right.

She has oatmeal all over her beak in this photo (which was taken with my unbelievably amazing, obnoxiously large new lens which I am, by the way, absolutely head-over-heels in love with) because I brought her a treat. My husband, by the way, thought I was a freak for using a telephoto lens in the coop.

Whatever.


She was sitting there. Grumpy. Doing her usual thing. I tried to prepare myself for the fact that they just might not hatch. So many things could go wrong.

We got home late from church, and had to get the kids fed and the baby down for a nap. I raced out to the coop the first chance I got.

Something seemed different, but I wasn't sure exactly what.

I squatted down quietly beside her nest. She wasn't happy with my presence, but she didn't move. Her body was in the same position on the nest that it always is. No fuzzy little heads peeked out from beneath her.

Then I heard it.

I could so easily have missed it.

If it wasn't for the three-day-old baby chicks that my chickens used to be a year ago when they arrived in the mail, I would have missed it for sure. That sound is imprinted on my mind forevermore. My heart beat faster before I even realized what I had heard.

I very carefully reached beneath her and gently pulled out the most beautiful shiny brown egg.

It was hot.

It quivered and vibrated ever so slightly in my hand.

It was alive.

I held it to my ear. After a moment, I heard the tiniest "peep peep peep" you could imagine.

Quickly I tucked it back into it's warm space under it's Momma.

As I sat there, every so often I would hear one of the babies, "peep peep peep" from within it's shell. Every time I heard it, Momma Hen heard it too. She would put all her feathers up on end, and glare at me. She knows, although I wonder if she really knows. What mother truly does know what she's getting herself into?

There are still at least a hundred things that could go wrong. But right now, I am completely amazed. An egg, people, it's an egg. You know, those things that you crack into a hot pan and cook. But these ones are ripe with life. It's a mystery to me really why, or how... but right now, at this exact moment those baby chicks are probably only hours away from hatching.

This is my gift on Mother's Day. I am once again overwhelmed with awe of my creator, filled up with excitement of this mystery, in anticipation of the joy of seeing those fuzzy little beady-eyed babies.

I know for a fact that Momma Hen didn't lay a single one of those eggs she incubated, and chances are good that they won't all survive. But they are all hers, and she is their mom.

Happy Mother's Day.

Happy Mother's Day to adoptive moms, to stepmoms, to moms who have given birth to babies, and to moms who hurt today because they have lost children. We are all moms, and what a mystery it truly is. My love to you all.

Knoepfle soup - Part III

Just in case you missed all the fun, here are the links to Part I and Part II.

I'm well aware of the fact that I never finished my knoepfle soup post. The final photo of the soup in a bowl was horrible. It lacked color, contrast, texture, was boring, and did not look appetizing at all.

It was entirely unacceptable.

You try! Just try to take an exciting picture of soup. It isn't easy, I'll tell you that much.

So I did what I do best. I procrastinated.

The soup, on the other hand, was quite good. I ate it for breakfast that whole week.

The last few days eternal week has been cloudy, windy, and cold. Good soup days. One of them was a good day to try again. As luck would have it I still had a rooster in the freezer, and something special in mind to make that photo work.

We left off at the point where we were ready to make the knoepfle dough.


You've braved The Nest Queen (who at the time I started writing this post was not a dedicated setter, but only the grumpy guard of all freshly laid eggs) and returned to the kitchen victorious with your two fresh eggs.

We have something like this assembled.


This is the easy part, just throw it all in the stand mixer and flip the switch.

Well, I mean we crack the eggs first. Obviously we don't want the shells.

Once upon a time I dumped a whole bunch of hot steaming potatoes into that stand mixer bowl, added some cream and butter and got ready to flip the switch on the power strip that it is plugged into. Thankfully I noticed that one of the boys had left the mixer on a high setting. (My boys sometimes sit on the counter to help me cook, also the reason the mixer is plugged into a power strip.) I looked over at my husband and laughed as I said, "Could you imagine if I hadn't seen that and actually turned it on" as I reached back and flipped the darn switch on.

RRRRRRRRrrrrrrr... Mashed potatoes everywhere. Including the ceiling.

I screamed. My husband just shook his head and walked away.

In my defense, I was pregnant with the Bean at the time, and as you ladies know that tends to affect every single part of your body. Including your brain.

I (usually) love my beautiful blood-red stand mixer to the same degree as I hate my yucky carpet. Very, very much. It's been worth every penny I spent on it.

Okay, next dump the dough which we worked so hard to make into a pile of flour and make a nice big mess. Flatten the dough somewhat and cut it into strips with your handy kitchen shears.

There, you see the lack of color? Like a sad, gloomy day? It only gets worse.


Awhile back I said some rather unkind things about my Pampered Chef cookware. I'm not sorry for that. But to be fair, I do want to say I love my Pampered Chef kitchen shears. I got it nearly twelve years ago, I use it many times every day, and it's still as good as new.

But like I said, that was twelve years ago and I have not a clue if they still make them as great now. Don't run out and buy one and then blame me if it rusts apart after a week. Not that it will. I'm just saying.

And, yes, that is Sunny all cut up in the background of that photo. He smelled amazing, and tasted even better.

Now add two quarts of milk to our broth and cooked potato concoction. Whole milk is best. It makes the soup nice and thick.


Bring it back to simmering, gently, you don't want to burn it on the bottom. It takes awhile to heat up that much milk.

The kitchen shears does a great job of snipping those long pieces of dough into bite-sized pieces, and into the soup they go, followed by a chopped up Sunny.

And the trick up my sleeve for the hopeful salvation of the soup bowl photo?

Fresh parsley. My parsley seedling, which I judged had grown just big enough to endure the loss of three of it's five leaves, came to the rescue.

Thank you little parsley seedling, please don't be angry. Be strong. Keep growing so we can continue this relationship throughout the summer.


Well, that's not going to win any food-porn awards, but it's sure an improvement.

If you're feeling inspired to entertain yourself with a day-long soup project in your own kitchen, and just in case you don't have a frozen rooster named Sunny, or Mr. Fatty, or Pretty Boy in your freezer... I was kind enough to include the recipe, which I sort of followed.

Click on it for a version large enough to read. Remember that I doubled mine because I had a whole annoying rooster.

After the storm

Deja vu.

This weeks You Capture assignment is "Spring". Again. Just like last week.

Beth said, "TRY HARDER! What does Spring really mean to you?".

What does Spring really mean to me?

Woodticks.

Try again?

Okay. How about the magical beauty that follows an evening Spring storm?


When everything is saturated with rich blue and green colors.


The wet grass soaks through my shoes.


Some of my very favorite things come out to play. I can't keep my hands off them.


I almost forgot! My new header photo was taken that same evening. The plums are flowering! Mmmmmm....

You Capture - "Spring (again)"

My yesterday

Yesterday evening I sat here eating cold rice and broccoli (which was honestly not half bad), as the kids were all finally in bed and it was the first peaceful moment of my day.

I haven't been blogging much. I'm sure you all missed me terribly. Although, I did get a little something fun posted late last night.

My five-year-old has had a miserable fever for over a week. He even went over 105 at one point, which scared me more than I care to admit. We've gone through most of a bottle of acetaminophen and more than half a bottle of ibuprofen. Not good.

He had a clinic visit yesterday for the second time. Different doctor than the last one I wrote about, thankyouverymuch. He had to have his finger poked and something like three drops of blood taken.

And I am deaf.

Holy screaming, tears, drool-flinging, sputtering hysterical drama. At that point they were thinking maybe he had Mono. I'm sure the technician wrestling with his finger was thrilled to be in the path of his germ spewing turbulence. She was wearing a full-body armour paper suit.

There is no way that was adequate protection.

(sigh)

But that bloodwork paid off big time, you know. We were right back where we started only knowing what he didn't have. Not Mono. Okay, that's good. At his first visit we found out he didn't' have Strep.

The antibiotic we started him on after his first visit was obviously not doing a darn thing for him so she changed it.

The next high-magnitude disaster was that we forgot to ask for suckers. Sick kiddo realized it as he was buckling himself into the car. His supply of tears was endless. At least he wasn't dehydrated.

His new antibiotic was almost fifty dollars, and that was just our co-pay.

Crazy.

Also crazy is the fact that we have carpet in our dining room.

Have I mentioned how much I dislike carpet?

Some of us had broccoli for supper, although not all at the same time. Have I mentioned how much the little Bean loves to eat broccoli? It's almost her favorite thing. She loves it so much that she had to tip her plate up to her face and lick it, dumping all of her broccoli straight down into her lap and onto the floor. Did I mention that my husband ended up with broccoli squished between his bare toes?

So, yeah, we have glorious carpet in the dining room, which is embedded with broccoli. Simply brilliant.

I hate carpet.

I'm that close to declaring war on every stitch of carpeting in this house. The Bean's bedroom is next.

About the time we were realizing exactly how many places in the room had been decorated with broccoli, our youngest boy spoke up.

"I'm tired"

And then he immediately fell off his chair. Taking his bowl of rice with him.

Carpeting? In the dining room? Lord have mercy. Squished broccoli and rice.

There are moments every day that I have to admit complete and utter defeat. I'm certain it must be therapeutic to recognize it. Because otherwise I might just sit in some broccoli in the corner and cry.

We had to get the kids to bed. It was The End. You know when you get to The End because you are so far past it. It makes bedtime routines a heck of a lot of fun.

My stubborn sick kid refused to got potty before heading up to his bedroom. Keep in mind I had been pushing him to drink water ALL day. As I looked into his grumpy, miserable, dark circles under-the-eyes face, I suddenly knew what I had to do. It was the moment of destiny for my bruised purple toenail.

Fear not, I'll spare you having to see a photo of it.

A sewing machine tipped over onto it. Just tipped over, didn't technically fall. It was heavy and hurt like... well, if you've ever had a purple toenail then you know.

My socks were already off (wet broccoli does not add much to the comfort level of socks). I sat on the bathroom counter and hung my bare purple toe (with the rest of that foot) over the toilet.

"You want to pee on my purple toe?"

He thought that would be awesome. Luckily for my toe, my foot was faster than his bladder valve.

He was laughing so hard, I'm still amazed that he actually aimed it so well.

Boys.

I'm finding it hard to believe that somehow we survived the day. Except for my sad sick boy, it's a success, then, I suppose.

Green

Mmmmm...

I love that green, green grass.


I want to fill my fists with it's cool moist freshness, and throw it at the sky. I want to run around barefoot and feel it's kiss between my toes.

I want to rub it in my hair.

What's that you say? I have loose chickens?

I nearly forgot about that.


Okay, an occasional chicken poop aside, that beautiful soft green blanket just makes my heart sing.

It turns our harsh winter into a forgotten dream.

It creates magical little spaces to search for hidden bugs.

Oh dear.


Yes, it also makes me want to kick my boys out the back door. For hours at a time.